Divas Unite!

Drink your honey tea. Walk about crying in your bathrobe with a tiny bit of cucumber still clinging to the edge of your eye. Put out a press release about how much fame upsets you.

And then join us for karaoke at the Sportsman's Pub on Thursday night, circa 10:30. Jana is hosting, and hey: She's a gem. And when she sings she's Jem.

(J: Any Jem in the Machine?)

So all y'all prepare. A horde of us are descending on Sporty's. It'll be like the barbarians sacking Rome, only with more singing. (Probably just as much screaming.)

Sporty's is perhaps best described in the words Keith used the other night: "It's one of those bars that looks like a dive on the outside, but it looks like a dive on the inside too." There's something to be said for truth in advertising. And the Pabst is on tap, so you have the bargain hunters, the habit-formed, the domestic slaves, and the hipsters all under one roof.

Also, I've seen more high-fives there than even at Costello's on my block during a Twins or Vikings game. And that's sayin' something. There is it: the something I've just said.

My Morning Victory

I made it to the coffeeshop in time to nab the couch and coffee table. And to my good fortune there was one bench seat open, because the serial farter is here. He eyed the other half of the couch, then chose the bench.

Providence?

The Violence Within

Wow. I've watched Layer Cake and seen The Departed recently. Both films I enjoyed, but, man, as Departed wraps up, well, it's the first film I've ever been at during which the audience began whispering awed statements like "Oh no!" and "Jesus Christ!" and even "Holy fuck!"

Not as good as Goodfellas, of course, but good.
-cK